


Can't quite place it

by Colourspaz



Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/pseuds/Colourspaz
Summary: “I’ll see you soon. Promise”Dean’s words replay in Fulton’s head sometimes. It’s usually when he’s stressed or mad or sad or when he feels so oddly incomplete that he can hardly breathe. And try as he might, he can’t be mad at Portman for leaving.Or, a more in-depth look at Fulton Reed during the third movie





	Can't quite place it

“I’ll see you soon. Promise” 

Dean’s words replay in Fulton’s head sometimes. It’s usually when he’s stressed or mad or sad or when he feels so oddly incomplete that he can hardly breathe. And try as he might, he can’t be mad at Portman for leaving. 

The way he sees it, it makes perfect sense. Why would the practical legend Dean Portman want to stay with a team from Minnesota whom he’s known for only a month or two? Obviously, he wants to play with his team from Chicago, with kids and coaches he’s known for much longer.

And so Fulton carries on. He still wears his old button-ups and bandannas, except every time he puts them on, he’s reminded of Portman. He still goes to the arcade with the team, but he avoids the racing games; they remind him of Portman. 

Practice is the worst. He laces up his skates and he remembers the time his skate got stuck on his foot and Portman had to pull it off, resulting in both of them falling over. He put on his gloves and remembers the time they had a 6 am practice and in their bleariness, accidentally put on each other’s gloves. He steps on the rink and is nearly blown over with the rush of imisshimimisshimimisshim. 

So yes. Even if Dean Portman isn’t there, he’s still with Fulton everywhere. And Fulton gets almost used to his physical absence. 

And then Portman walks into the locker room during that fateful game, and Fulton forgets how to breathe. He remembers getting up to greet him, smiling wider than he has in months, and it’s all a blur from there. 

Well, except for Portman stripping in the penalty box. That’s definitely etched into his memory. 

Once they win, it’s even more of a blur. People are passing around hugs and pats on the back and Fulton can hardly tell who’s who. They change back into street clothes and head to their usual diner. 

There’s an empty chair next to Fulton, and he thinks nothing of it. He turns to Goldberg to answer something, and he turns back to see Portman dropping into the chair, grinning right at Fulton. Fulton grins back, feeling his skin get tingly but thinking nothing of it. 

The waitress flirts with Portman in a way that makes Fulton think she thinks he’s older than he is. As they’re leaving, she hands him a slip of paper, presumably with her number, but he politely declines. 

Everyone heads to their dorms once they’re back in the building, and nobody even questions it when Portman heads into Fulton’s room. Of course they’d room together, why wouldn’t they? Portman’s side of the room is bare save for a small newspaper clipping about the Bash Brothers. Portman smiles when he notices it. 

“Sorry m’ taking your room, man.” Portman says, beginning to unpack his bag. 

“It’s your room too. Was gonna be a lot sooner, but then you didn’t show up.” Fulton says, hoping he doesn’t sound bitter. 

Portman frowns, and Fulton’s stomach sinks. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…I missed you.” He’s facing the wall, away from Portman because he knows (Or, rather, he thinks he knows) that Portman has a disappointed look on his face and he really doesn’t think he can handle that right now. 

“Hey.”

Fulton doesn’t turn around. 

“Hey.” He hears footsteps and then Portman’s gripping his arm and turning him around. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. I thought I was making the right decision, but then I regretted it more every day. I missed this. I missed the Ducks, I missed being a part of the Bash Brothers. I missed you.” Portman rushes out pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I should have never stayed away.” 

Portman swallows and pauses. Fulton is very well aware that he’s still gripping his arm, and he’s glad for it, because without it he might just collapse. They’re standing much closer than they were a few seconds ago, too. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “How do I make it up to you?” 

Fulton can’t seem to raise his voice above a whisper. 

“Stay.” 

Neither of them are sure who leaned in first, but their lips meet and they’re kissing. Fulton inhales sharply and Portman misinterprets this as discomfort, because he starts to back off. In an almost panic, Fulton grabs the sides of his face and pulls him back in. Their teeth clash and Portman’s gripping Fulton’s arms so hard it almost hurts, but neither of them could ask for anything else. 

Finally, the realization of what he’s doing hits Fulton and panic takes over. He shoves Portman away from him and stumbles back, shaking. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry I-I didn’t mean-I don’t-feel free to deck me.” he says, voice shaking and breath probably going a little too fast. 

“Fulton-”

“-and you probably don’t even like guys-”

“Fulton.” 

“-and now I’m going to have to leave Eden Hall and you just got back and I’m-”

“Fulton!” 

Fulton pauses mid sentence, and oh, shit, he’s definitely breathing too fast. 

“Fulton. I’m not mad. It’s all okay. Breathe.” Portman reassures him, putting his hands on Fulton’s shoulders. Fulton’s legs wobble and Portman catches him as he falls down, helping him sit down on the floor. 

“Fulton. It’s okay, just breathe.” 

And so he does; and so they sit there. Fulton’s breath and pulse eventually return to an acceptable rate, but they stay there. 

Slowly, tiredly, Fulton looks up at Portman. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Portman reassures him. Hesitantly, he places a kiss on Fulton’s forehead. Fulton relaxes into him, resting his head on Portman’s shoulder. 

“Why?” Fulton sounds tired, which is fair. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me? How do you like me? You deserve someone so much better.” Fulton sounds so sure of himself that it almost rips Portman’s heart in half. 

“You could have any girl you want. Hell, the waitress earlier gave you her number. How do I compete with that?” Fulton continues. 

Portman shakes his head. “There’s no competition. I like you better. That’s what you need to know.” 

Fulton begins to protest, and Portman effortlessly picks him up by the waist and puts him down in his lap. He threads his fingers into Fulton’s hair, and pulls him into another kiss. This one’s softer, gentler, slower. They ease into a rhythm and everything is calm again. 

They break apart when Portman yawns, smiling. 

“This is nice and all, but I got up at five this morning to make my flight and then headed right to the game and I’m about to fall asleep right here and now.” 

Fulton nods. “That’s fair.” 

Portman kisses Fulton one last time and then they separate, changing into pajamas and brushing teeth and whatnot. 

By the time Portman gets back from the bathroom, Fulton’s already bundled under the covers. He lifts them up as an invitation when he hears Portman walk back in, and Portman crawls into bed with a smile. 

Sleepilly, Fulton tucks himself into Portman’s arms, tangling their legs together comfortably. 

“Do you remember what you said to me before you left?” Fulton asks. Portman considers this for a moment, and then shakes his head. 

“Nothing specific, no.” 

Fulton pauses, and Portman feels like he’s messed up. 

“What did I say?” he prompts. 

“‘I’ll see you soon. I promise.’ I held on to that for...longer than I should have.” 

Portman holds him a little tighter. 

“Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. That’s a real promise.” 

Fulton looks up at him, and he looks like he can’t believe it. 

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you want me to.” 

Fulton kisses him through a smile. 

They fall asleep pressed almost too close, Portman running his hands through Fulton’s hair and Fulton’s never been happier. Both of them sleep better than they have in months. 

And if anyone on the team notices that Fulton’s smiling more, talking more, and actually interacting with people, well, nobody mentions it. They all know why it is.


End file.
